


here we go again

by envysparkler



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Brother Acquisition, Broken Bones, Gen, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Time Travel, Titans Tower au, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:12:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27963575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: “Sorry, Dickface, that my self-control wasn’t up to the task of watching my little brother get his throat slit, all for the greater good of the goddamntimeline.”
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 122
Kudos: 1400
Collections: Red Hood vs Red Robin





	here we go again

**Author's Note:**

> Counting strictly only alternate versions of the Titans Tower fight, this marks AU #8.

The hallway was too long.

Or maybe Tim was too slow, because that was certainly the theme of this evening – too slow, too weak, too shocked at the reappearance of a ghost to block the kick that had broken his ribs and dodge the bullet now lodged in his side and evade the strike that had snapped his ankle with a _crack_ that had made him scream as Hood laughed.

But he couldn’t move any faster. The hallway was wavering around him and his leg was on fire and he was sure that some of his fingers were broken because stabbing pains jolted up his arm as he clung to the side of the wall.

Footsteps followed behind him, slow and steady and heavy, accompanied by the tune of malicious laughter and seething insults.

Tim had long since stopped registering the words. Talking hadn’t helped. Talking had only made Hood angrier – he’d broken Tim’s ankle when he mentioned Dick, and grabbed him by the throat and threw him through a table when he managed to gasp out Bruce’s name.

“Aww, is the little bird trying to fly away on broken wings?” Hood chuckled, “What happened to proving yourself the better Robin, kid?”

Tim had never said anything about being the better Robin, and Hood had the advantage of being back from the dead. He’d fired the gun while Tim had still been trying to figure out why he was seeing a dead boy.

Another step. And another, hop-limp-bite-down-the scream. The hallway split into a T ten steps from him, but it felt like it was a mile away.

Hood was whistling now, coming up the stairs. A couple more footsteps, and he’d be able to see Tim. Be able to shoot him again. His vision blurred and Tim choked down the shriek as he forced himself to move faster.

He had to find a comm. Needed to alert Batman, Nightwing, _somebody_. Before Hood finished toying with him.

The boot _clunked_ on the top step and Tim strangled the whimper. Hood’s laughter was closer, echoing down the hallway as he continued his same slow pace. “What’s the matter, Replacement?” he said, cold and cruel, “I nearly managed to crawl out of that warehouse with _twice_ the broken bones you have.”

It sounded like a threat. Tim set his jaw, took a deep breath, and lunged forward, managing to take two large steps before his legs crumpled, sending him to a painful collision with the floor.

Tim hadn’t entirely been able to strange the scream. Hood laughed, chuckles echoing up and down the hallway. The footsteps continued their steady pace.

Tim forced himself up on hands and knees, throwing away dignity in favor of crawling to the corner. At least he was out of Hood’s line of sight for the ten seconds it would take him to round the corner.

“Oh, are we playing hide and seek?” Hood chuckled, and Tim kept pushing forward, ignoring the burn of his ribs and the fire shooting through his gut. He could taste iron and salt on his lips, and his arms were beginning to tremble.

He was a sitting duck in the hallway. He needed to find a room, a door, a closet, _something_.

Tim cast a glance behind him, and his stomach dropped. Bright red handprints dotted the floor, along with brownish red smudges as he dragged himself forward. His eyes began to burn – there was no way he was going to be able to hide from Hood.

He choked down the sob as he forced himself forward – he wasn’t going to give up, he wouldn’t give Hood the satisfaction – and froze when he was faced with familiar steel-toed boots.

Tim looked up, craning his neck until his gaze landed on the red helmet.

How the hell had Hood gotten in front of him?

Tim held his breath – this close, Hood could break his jaw with one kick, send Tim crashing to the floor and break the remainder of his ribs, or maybe press down on his throat until his windpipe gave way and –

Hood raised a finger to his helmet. Tim stared at him, baffled, and watched Hood step forward, tensing for the blow. And waited.

Hood stepped past him. Tim twisted, straining to keep Hood in his line of sight, and watched with growing confusion as Hood crept forward on silent feet, utterly ignoring Tim as he walked towards the corner –

Wait a minute. The footsteps. Hood’s laughter, ringing down the hallway.

Tim watched in complete bewilderment as Hood sauntered around the edge of the corner to be faced with…himself?

“Who the fuck are you?” snarled the Jason who’d taken off his helmet, green eyes flashing, automatically shifting to a fighting stance.

“The Ghost of Christmas Future,” Red Helmet Guy snarked, and attacked.

Tim didn’t know who was under the helmet, but the stranger held himself the same way Hood did, fighting with identical brutal intensity as he tackled Hood past the corner, snarled imprecations echoing with the sound of gunshots and muffled punches.

There were…two Hoods. His weary brain slowly connected the dots as the sounds of the fight got further and further away. Two Jasons. Two people who wanted him dead for daring to wear his suit.

Tim allowed himself one moment to silently scream into his fist before pushing up again and crawling down the hallway. The distant gunshots stopped suddenly, and Tim forced himself to go faster, ignoring the shrieking in his side and his too-fast breaths, he needed to get out, he needed to hide, he needed to –

One of his elbows buckled, and the other crumpled under the sudden increase in weight – Tim managed to twist to avoid landing on the ground face first, but he only managed to defer the collision to his already broken ribs, and the world erupted in fire.

By the time Tim managed to claw back consciousness, his breathing had turned ragged and hoarse, and tears were dripping off his cheeks. The inside of his mouth tasted like pennies and Tim coughed weakly as he tried to lever back up.

His arms wavered, and then declined to support his weight. The sounds of the fight had stopped entirely.

Tim made a choked-off groan that sounded far too much like a sob for his liking, and attempted to get his knees under him, ignoring the brief bursts of agony when he jarred his broken ankle. _Please_ , he begged in his head to anyone listening, _please, I just need to get somewhere safe_.

A low, deliberate scuff of boot against linoleum – Tim startled, twisting frantically because he hadn’t heard anyone coming, and looked up at the figure crouching next to him – armor, leather jacket, helmet off to reveal black hair with a white fringe and vivid green eyes.

Tim curled up as much as he was able, and waited for the attack, his heart thundering in his chest as he bit down on the scream, useless tears welling up at the corner of his eyes.

_Just let it end quickly_ was a futile prayer, because Hood knew how to make the torture last.

“Shh, Tim, I’m not going to attack you,” came a low voice, accompanied by a gentle grip on his shoulder, “I got him, okay? He’s not going to hurt you anymore.”

Tim didn’t know what he was talking about, he didn’t want to suffer through Hood’s mind games, the promises were empty, were _lies_ –

“It’s okay,” the voice reassured, rubbing soft circles into his shoulder, “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

And those words – in that _voice_ –

Tim dared a peek between his crossed arms, looking up into the face of the dead boy that had hunted him through the Tower and attacked him at every step – looking at worried lines and green eyes drawn into a concerned frown and –

Tim choked down the cry and flung himself forward.

Strong arms wrapped around him easily as Tim buried his face in armor, grasping weakly at the collar of the leather jacket, fire building in his chest and searing through the shards of his broken heart as he sobbed, shivering and shaking.

It was stupid, foolish, a child’s last, desperate hope in heroes that faced off against the monsters under their bed, and Tim _hated_ himself for it, but the man had Jason’s face and Jason’s voice and Tim could only hold on tighter as he cried.

The sobs wracked painfully against his broken ribs as Jason pressed him closer, tucking Tim’s head under his chin as he ran a hand through Tim’s hair, rocking them slowly and muttering soothing nonsense into Tim’s ear. It was Jason, it was _Robin_ , it was everything that Tim had lost, everything that had been thrown back into his face by a green-eyed monster and Tim clung fiercely to this remnant as he wept.

Jason was dead. Jason was _alive_. Jason was the Red Hood, and he wanted Tim _dead_.

“Shh, baby bird,” Jason murmured, “It’s okay, you’re safe now, I promise.”

“You –” Tim stuttered, unable to uncurl his fingers and break his grip on the apparition in front of him, “You’re not _real_.”

“Really?” Jason hummed, “Because I sure feel real.”

But he _couldn’t_ be. Jason – Hood wanted him dead, and it couldn’t be an act, because that meant _this_ was an act and Tim was going to _break_ if Jason pried him off and returned to the attempted murder.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered, but Jason didn’t let go.

Two Hoods. _“The Ghost of Christmas Future.”_ The utter lack of surprise contrasted with the very clear shock. “Time travel,” Tim mumbled, putting together the pieces, “You’re from the future.”

Jason was silent for a long moment. “You _are_ a smart little bird, aren’t you?” he finally whispered, with a small huff of amusement, “Well, I got sucked through a portal of some sort, though I hope it’s not time travel. If it is, I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked up the timeline because I sure as hell don’t remember our first meeting ending like this.”

Tim took a slow, deep breath at the confirmation that _this_ Jason had also tried to kill him at some point. Fresh tears pooled in his eyes, and he let them drip onto Jason’s armor, unwilling and unable to let go of his once-attempted-murderer. “How many years?” Tim asked, voice hitched and small.

“Three.”

“You – you don’t want me dead three years from now?”

“No, baby bird,” Jason said, his voice choked-up and weary, “No, I most definitely do not want you dead three years from now.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, “I’m sorry, by the way. For being such a colossal asshole the first time around.”

Tim laughed wetly, but the movement jostled his ribs and he ended up coughing, clinging tighter to Jason as his chest erupted in renewed fire.

Jason rubbed circles next to his shoulder blades in tune to the soft shushing, letting Tim pull on his jacket as he tried not to scream.

Slowly, the ragged gasps eased back to normal breathing, the pain soothed by the fingers tugging gently at his hair.

“Come on,” Jason said softly, shifting position so that Tim was fully in his lap as he moved to a crouch, “We need to get you to the medbay.” He lifted Tim easily, and the small part of him that panicked at the movement was soothed by the tone, Robin’s no-nonsense bluntness.

They entered the hallway that Tim had just limped through, and he stilled in Jason’s arms. “What about Hood?” Tim asked softly, unwilling to call his attacker Jason, not when there was already a Jason that had saved him and protected him.

“Took him down,” Jason said, matter-of-fact, “Handcuffed him and locked him in a closet. The flashbacks and panic attacks should keep him there for a while.”

“What?”

“Claustrophobia,” Jason explained, “It’s one of the fun side effects that comes with clawing yourself out of your own grave.”

Tim pushed against Jason’s chest to look the man in the eye as he sucked in a horrified breath, “ _Jason_.”

Jason gave him a wry smile, “No one said coming back from the dead would be easy.”

Tim held on tighter, as if the warmth of Jason’s arms could chase away the chill – he had suspected a trick, Batman lying, a trap, but if Jason had _actually_ been dead –

“There we go,” Jason said as they entered the medbay. He gently deposited Tim on one of the cots and Tim inwardly mourned the loss of warmth as Jason moved away. He came back with a first aid kit, an IV bag, and a blood bag, and set each one up with brisk, efficient movements.

Tim had a momentary curl of fear at the sight of the tweezers, but Jason had finished taping the IV into his hand and the familiar, floaty feel of painkillers dulled all sensation.

He barely even felt it when Jason removed the bullet, a soft plink of metal on metal replaced with the stitching needle, and everything felt fuzzy by the time Jason was wrapping his broken ankle. Tim cast out a feeble hand at the broad, tall shadow moving around his bed as each blink grew longer and slower.

“Don’t go,” Tim said quietly, “Please.” He could feel fresh tears on his itchy cheeks – he wanted Jason, he wanted _Robin_ , he would do anything for the older boy to stay.

Gentle fingers carefully tugged his fingers free of the leather jacket. “I’m sorry, baby bird,” Jason murmured softly, “But I have to get back home.”

Tim could feel the tears dripping faster.

“I called B to come get you,” Jason promised, “He should be here in an hour. And I’ll lock Hood up in a containment cell on my way out.”

Tim didn’t want _Hood_ , he wanted _Jason_.

“Don’t take it personally,” Jason said quietly, “He’s not mad at you.” It was a little difficult not to take attempted murder personally. “He’s mad at Bruce, and it’s half because of the Lazarus Pit. But also make sure you aren’t alone with him unless you’re sure the Pit madness is gone.”

“Jason,” Tim exhaled softly.

“Oh, and that advice goes for Damian too,” Jason murmured, “Don’t be alone with the demon brat. Not until Dick gets his cheerful claws into him, anyway.”

Who was Damian?

“Jason, please,” Tim said weakly, reaching out.

“I’m sorry, baby bird,” Jason exhaled, soft and stricken, “But I really do have to go back.” There was a soft impression on Tim’s forehead, a kiss pressed to his hairline, before the shadow withdrew and the darkness sunk in around him.

* * *

He couldn’t breathe.

The air was stale and his hands were tied and the door was locked and _he couldn’t breathe_ and all he could smell was death and dirt and the Joker _laughed_ and _laughed_ and _laughed_ and he could hear the bomb ticking in his ear, too close, _too close_ , he could feel the sickening rush of flames burning him from the inside out –

Somewhere, a lock clicked and hinges squeaked.

A breeze sucked at his skin, the twist of air before the fire would hit him, the taste of mud and rain on his tongue, his arms were shrieking in agony – dislocated by a crowbar, fingernails tearing into rotting wood, the jagged twist of broken bone –

“I’m not going to apologize.” Cold. Familiar yet not, like looking into a broken mirror. “You deserved this. _I_ deserved this.”

He remembered screaming. He remembered hoarse, panicked gasps of dry, dying air. He remembered _green_ , the acid taste of it on his tongue, the fire burning him alive, the fury he so desperately needed an outlet for.

“You were hurting a _kid_.” A snarl, full of fury he recognized. “He did _nothing_ to you, and you were about to slit his throat.”

He couldn’t breathe. _He couldn’t breathe_.

“You’re lucky.” Cold, furious, seething. “You’re lucky that someone stopped you. You’re lucky that you get a _chance_. Don’t fuck it up.”

He was dying all over again – fifteen and dry air and the Joker’s laughter and betrayal carved into his bones, sixteen and mud and panicked wheezes and terror coiling in the darkness, seventeen and acid green and choked gasps and fury surging through his veins.

“It’ll be okay. Bruce is coming.”

He seized onto that – Bruce was coming, Bruce, _Bruce_ –

_Dad_.

He barely even registered the needle sliding into his skin.

* * *

“What the _hell_ , Jason, you’re lucky that that was an alternate dimension!”

“Sorry, Dickface, that my self-control wasn’t up to the task of watching my little brother get his throat slit, all for the greater good of the fucking _timeline_.”

“…”

“Aww, Jason, you _do_ care – no – stop – Dick, _help_ – I’m sorry – I take it back – _I take it back_ – Jason, _please_ –”

“I did not nearly murder you twice just to get disrespected like this, baby bird.”

“ _I’m sorry_ – Dick – Damian – _someone help_ – I can’t breathe – guys – Bruce – help – _Jason_!”


End file.
